


Flaming Arrow (Sniper x Pyro)

by daoinhe, distasty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Ambiguously Gendered Pyro, Bed-Wetting, Chair Bondage, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Dry Humping, Filthy, Finger Sucking, Gross, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Mental Health Issues, Omorashi, Other, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/distasty/pseuds/distasty
Summary: Sniper finds the team's Pyro's beginning to become attached to him, and isn't entirely sure if that's a good thing or not.More warnings/tags will be added as chapters go up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to daoinhe for beta'ing this. You did the majority of the editing on this monster and I could not have finished this without you. Thank you.

Everyone on BLU base was terrified of Pyro for a very understandable laundry list of reasons. First, it didn’t talk. It could hardly emote in a discernible manner other than sounds and crude hand gestures. This made its moods hard to read which, in turn, created an increasingly distending divide between itself and its team. When fighting, its behavior was bloodthirsty, cruel and unpredictable. This extended outside of the field and on to its own teammates on occasion. There had been multiple instances that had instilled fear in those around it.

Once, Scout had been in a hurry and attempted to push Pyro out of the way. He hadn’t expected the hard grip on his forearm or the sudden twist backwards. Those present in the room that had not seen his arm forced backwards at an unnatural angle or heard the sickening crack of bone noticed the howling screams that followed. Soldier, utterly offended by the scene, stepped in. He puffed himself up and screamed and berated at it for hurting a fellow teammate which ended with the dull side of Pyro’s axe driving hard into his temple. The deafening clang of steel on steel had been just as chilling as the heavy sound of his body hitting the ground. It had stood above Soldier’s felled, unconscious form, stance aggressive as it dared further challenge from the rest of the room. When it had no other takers, it left without a word, axe dragging behind. All it took was a single fit of irritated rage to justify breaking Scout's arm like a brittle twig. Ultimately, it was the lack of remorse in the action that got the teams full attention. The incident had been taken as a clear message to not cross it, and the team had heard it. Every single man on base gave Pyro a wide berth in response.

Sniper, by nature of his work, was always a bit separated from his team both on and off the clock. Since he hadn’t experienced Pyro’s violence directly, he hadn't acquired the same fear that the rest of his teammates had. While others would flee readily when it lingered too close by, he had a tendency towards indifference, and chose to be polite but distant.

It should have been of little surprise that such actions yielded disaster. 

It all started when the team was en route for a brief two week engagement on another base. Having little to pack himself, Sniper was the first to the van and had chosen a comfortable seat in the back, next to a window. He hadn’t flinched or commented as Pyro entered the van, looking around at the empty interior before awkwardly deciding to plant itself next to him. Sniper hadn’t protested. Politeness had dictated a quiet nod before he smiled at the disquieting blackened glass which looked briefly to him. He should have had the sense to know it was a mistake when it stared a little too long at him. Instead, he sat in silence and did nothing until Pyro numbly directed its attention forward into nothing.

It wasn’t as if he was clueless. He knew how the rest felt about it and had heard time and time again the many stories about Pyro’s capacity for violence. Looking back, Sniper wasn’t sure why he didn’t perceive the arrangement as being problematic or why he had chosen to passively accept sitting next to the thing while the van was still empty, while there were plenty of other options. 

The decision had been stupidly reckless and he was reminded of this fact by his very angry common sense when the situation eventually went south. It was the same common sense that had made him do absolutely nothing to anger or offend when Pyro went to casually hold his hand after several hours of driving. 

It had been an uphill fight with a survival instinct that urged him to pull away. In travel, re-spawn was not active. It was useless to try and gauge how potentially threatening a blatant refusal could have been with such an unstable person. All he knew was the thing that laced its gloved fingers with his was highly volatile, and if it chose to, would not hesitate to hurt him. So he allowed it in spite of his rising discomfort. The action was private, no one else privy to the fact. The longer he allowed it, the less weird and strained it became.

When a gloved thumb ran across the tendons and thick hairs of the back his hand, he couldn’t help the reflexive squeeze back. The response had been immediate. Pyro’s arm stiffened, and Sniper began to fret at his mistake. He risked a side glance at the person next to him, looking into unfeeling circles of smoked glass as its head angling almost curiously at his worried face. There was a small rumble of sound before it finally went back to looking out the other window, the thumb starting its caresses at the top of his hand once again. Sniper released the breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding in, and closed his eyes. He tried to swallow the oppressive, uncomfortable tension, while telling himself it would be fine, and found the careful touches to his hand helped with the pressure that was slowly ebbing out of him.

In the end, its gentle touches and petting became more calming than distressing. Idle thoughts began and were quickly drifting. Perhaps the thing next him was merely an odd, lonely person he had mused. It wasn’t hard to believe since it touched him carefully and for such a long time. Its thumb moved and explored over different places, sometimes lingering on the folds and creases of his palm and other times prodding into the years of calluses and imperfections along his fingers and joints. Rapidly, the attention reached the cusp of being nice, not that Sniper would ever have admitted it. 

The road noise droned onward, and Sniper’s mind and body continued to downshift and relax. The sound and the soft rocking of the van had his head feeling heavy. The gentle touches continued on after his eyes fell shut, his breathing rhythmic and thickened with sleep. He hadn’t dreamed but still awoke to a nightmare.

He stirred awake as the van stopped at a gritty, country gas station. The pungent, unfamiliar smell of factory rubber in his nose was immediate and made him grimace as he awoke and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He shifted to sit up better, and finally noticed the heavy weight against his arm. He groggily looked down, and instantly, anxiety crested. Pyro was asleep against him, a slight snore audible from its mask. Its arm was entwined with his own while its hand gripped his arm impossibly tight, and far too possessively.

The intense pressure around him felt worlds apart from the hand holding. He had no idea if it was safe to wake what was up against him. Sniper could feel raw strength around his arm, and when he moved, he felt it coil tighter. He breathed in sharply and with it, more of the deep stink of smoke and latex, so overwhelming that the stench had his head hurting. So distracted with his situation, he hadn’t realized the dense silence around him. Sweat formed under his clothing at the awareness of the other occupants of the van noticing his predicament. He glanced at Engineer and felt the man's overwhelming pity. He figured the Texan knew there wasn't a thing he could do for Sniper. He was sure the others shared the shorter man’s feelings. Scout, always slower on the uptake, hadn’t noticed, and the entire van tensed as loudly spoken words broke through the rigid silence.

“What are you guys doin’? Hurry up so I can get out!”

The burst of noise made the thing attached to his arm stir and previously passive fingers began to grip bruisingly into his arm. Sniper gasped, body rippling in fear as he urged himself to take it. Engineer acted admirably on his behalf, violently jabbing Scout hard in the ribs with an elbow, which made Scout angrily turn and finally understand.

Sniper frowned deeply as gloved fingers continued digging deeper into his arm, the skin around its contact stressed, taut and white. Eventually its hand twitched, its grip stuttering as a tired growl passed through its respirator, ugly and distorted. There was a shift then, the hand leaving his arm in lieu of fisting his shirt. It turned and buried its masked face further into his side and arm, away from the noise of the van. The boy looked to Pyro and the Australian's reddened, bruising forearm and then back to Sniper’s whitened features. For once, Scout had no comment to give on the situation. 

With all eyes locked on him and the fear somewhat ebbed, Sniper quickly decided everyone’s attention had become far more uncomfortable than being held hostage. He made soft, careful movements with his free arm to put a finger over his mouth, before it left his lips and gestured for the others to leave. He was surprised when the request was not only understood, but was faithfully obeyed. It had been a solemn affair as the rest of the team abandoned Sniper to face his fate alone. With everyone gone, Sniper had been left, listening to the small snores through Pyro’s respirator being muffled into his side. He frowned deeply. He found himself in a rather uncomfortable and private predicament, and for once, he was grateful for his profession and some of its more unorthodox skill building. He looked to the station with a oppressive feeling of longing as he ignored the urgency of his bladder, and secretly hoped the damn thing would be in a good mood when it woke back up.

They were on the road for another two miserable hours before Pyro finally stirred. The hand on his shirt uncoiled to a palm that laid heavy on his chest for a moment before a darkened gurgle passed though the person buried in his side. It had hurt a little when weight pushed down on Sniper’s chest, assisting it as it shot rapidly back up, head swaying from both the rapid movement and its grogginess. It turned to look at Sniper and uttered a wet sound that would have been chilling had Sniper not been ailing. He was utterly uncomfortable, and flashed Pyro a stiff, forced smile before speaking.

"Good morning.” His words were met with silent glass and little else. Because Pyro made no further threat, Sniper averted his gaze, moving his head forward, not wanting to prolong his agony. “Please pull over.” 

Immediately, the sound of the rhythmic indicator cut the silence of the van and Sniper let out a comforted sigh as the speed of the van quickly reduced and came to a full stop. There was a brief moment of hesitation before he was brave enough to all but climb over the silent, unmoving Pyro. His bladder had been aching sitting still. Moving had made it urgent and painful. It had been awkward enough shimmying over Pyro’s unaccommodating legs, without the dull and constant ache making it worse. Glass followed his features as he did so, and he tried his best to ignore the fact that its gaze had not deviated from him as he made it towards the door. 

He hadn’t walked far from the van before his eager hands worked at removing his belt and the fastenings on his pants. The country road was abandoned, there were nothing but fields and mottled trees for miles. The sun was down, but the sky remained muddied with oranges and blues. Briefly he considered himself lucky that he was not forced to piss in full darkness. He worked his zipper down, and turned his head briefly to see that Pyro still watched him placidly out the window. The hairs on his neck bristled but he turned his gaze away from Pyro all the same. The uncomfortable pressure and severity of his need overwrote any requirement for privacy. He stood, awkward and exposed, waiting for his body to untense while occasionally glancing disdainfully at the indifferent audience of one he unwillingly entertained. Regardless of the mild indignity, it was still all pleasure when it finally started. Noise involuntarily rumbled out of him as his pelvic muscles finally relaxed enough to allow for release. 

He finished, but the discomfort that night was far from over. Returned to the van, he crawled back in and over unmoving latex and sat back down in his original seat. As soon as the van started rolling again, Sniper watched as a gloved hand was placed in his lap, opened in silent invitation to take Sniper's unwashed one. He looked to glass and then back to its welcoming palm and shuddered in defeat. It would have been foolish if he made Pyro mad now after all he had suffered. They held hands in the dark in silence and without incident for the next two hours until they made it to their destination.

The situation had left a stain on Sniper, which made him go out of his way to not directly interact with Pyro for the following week. This did not prove soothing for his nerves, nor did it truly rid the little gremlin from his mind since so many had been privy to what was now called the “van incident”. A few members of the team took to light hearted jests at his “survival” and cracked jokes at his expense. Sniper did little to respond to their taunting. He knew if he didn’t react, it would not be entertaining for the others to continue their torment. Ultimately, he was just grateful nothing violent came of the experience, and it was not like it wasn’t easy to ignore the majority of the comments. As in most things, Scout was particularly mouthy about the teasing and lacked the capacity of knowing when to stop. Scout himself had been the target of mockery after the arm breaking incident. He had sobbed and cried on his way to the infirmary, so it was, in his mind, a very nice change of pace now that it was someone else at the other end of the stick for a change. He had delighted in making claims of Pyro being partial to him as he knew from Sniper’s dirty looks such notions bothered him. He also lacked basic tact, and did not care if it was said within earshot of Pyro. The taunts made the thing stare at Sniper for far too long, which in turn made Sniper nervous.

Scout’s mockery continued long after the rest of the team had grown bored with it and didn’t cease until it reached an ugly, violent head. They were both in the kitchen while Sniper washed dishes the day it happened. There had been boredom in Scout’s voice before the conversation turned to strings of petty insult. Scout went on and on until he hit a particularly sensitive nerve with a rather unorthodox suggestion.

“So… have ya considered since Pyro likes ya so much with all that cuddlin’ and shit, maybe you should be keepin’ it as some kinda fucked up pet or something? Might be fun havin’ a crazy person at ya beck’n call.”

Rage simmered at Scout’s suggestion, and Sniper turned, meeting the boy in the eye.

“Shut up.” He muttered deep and low, brow dipping as he saw the little shit smile. Immediately he turned away, frustrated with himself that he had taken the bait. He knew damn well that, because he finally gained a reaction, Scout would of course never stop now.

“I agree,” Scout stated, his voice overly pleasant. “You’re so right and I am so sorry. After all, it would be Pyro keeping you like a pet for how much of a pussy ya were in the van. Always tryin’ to be all cool and level when you were all shaky and scared and shit.”

Sniper turned abruptly, plate in hand threateningly, arm raised and ready to retort. And as quickly has it had come, anger iced over, replaced with a cold, oppressive fear. Scout, reacting to Sniper's frightened face turned. Pyro was behind him, axe raised high. The movement of the weapon had been fast and sure. While the forewarning allowed for some evasive action, it hadn’t been nearly enough.

The blade embedded into the surface cabinet with a loud, sobering ‘thunk’ before Scout’s screaming started.

There was a sudden burst of scarlet red, so vibrant and startling that it had almost been as shocking to the senses as the shrieking. Pyro shook its head, annoyed by the noise. In response to the loud soul-piercing wailing, Pyro kicked the stool Scout sat on violently, sending him tumbling to the floor. The shock of gravity was enough to briefly stunt the noise as he kicked and cried, trying to get back on his feet in a panic. Blood pulsed thickly from the wound as he grasped at it with his intact hand. Sniper had not paid any mind to that. A few of Scout’s fingers lay on the table detached and bleeding centimetres from the axe blade. Snipers’ eyes morbidly locked on the dying fingers as they twitched and writhed weakly, bleeding out. Sniper said nothing as Pyro stood and straightened its posture, head bent down as it considered the screaming kid on the floor. It turned to Sniper, almost as if it asked for commentary on what it had just done. It felt like an age passed between them, and Sniper hoped that silence was the correct answer.

It ended with a small shrug from Pyro, before it stiffened its stance to collect the embedded axe from the counter. It gave a simple, quick nod to Sniper before it rested the tool comfortably on its shoulder and left the room. Sniper’s hand went to his chest as his heart raced. He suddenly remembered how to breath. He dumbly looked to the still twitching digits on the table next to the blood-filled gash the axe had left. It was automatic when, with an unnatural calm, he picked up Scout's fingers one by one in a damp dishtowel. Abandoning the half finished dishes and the pooling blood on the white tiles of the kitchen, Sniper helped Scout off the floor and into the infirmary, not saying a word to the boy as he loudly cursed and cried.

Afterwards, they never spoke of what happened again, and the boy stopped his teasing all together. Sniper wished he could feel glad about it.

Seeing Scout’s dead fingers on the cabinet was finally enough to make Sniper go to great lengths to avoid Pyro. Their respective positions on the team, as well as the distance between their quarters made the task an easy one, and honestly, it would have been surprising if Pyro noticed his efforts. Several days passed before they interacted again.

It had been on the field and Sniper was in his favorite nest quietly getting in the zone. He heard it come from behind him, stilling at the shift of wood and the sound of Pyro's respirator filtered breath. He hadn’t turned to the source immediately, choosing to instead keep his scope up as he listened to the quiet drain of the pilot light of its flamethrower mingled with the careful approaching footsteps. Eventually half the sound stopped when it was directly behind him. His skin prickled with nervousness, but still he forced calm through himself.

He knew he wouldn't get a response, but it felt tacky and oppressive not to acknowledge its obvious presence.

"Oi, what do ya need, mate?" Sniper asked evenly.

It happened fast as a lightning strike. There was a sudden screech of rubber soles on wood, followed by a thunderous thud as Sniper felt the indirect heat of flame bloom at his back. He turned hard, the barrel of his gun swinging in an arc as nervous fingers fired a useless shot into nothing. High on adrenaline and fear, it had still taken a moment before Sniper realized the fire and aggression hadn’t been meant for him. He watched as the very air caught, followed by a blood curdling shout as flame took a familiar human shape. He stared as pieces began to melt off a burning translucent form. A red malfunctioning mist mangled and conformed into a clearly dying man. Goddamn Spy, Sniper thought, as he watched Pyro continue to bathe him in more and more fire until he was nothing but a smoldering corpse. The body filled the room with the acrid smell of burning meat and smoldering polyester while Pyro stood, considering Sniper. He swallowed heavily before breaking the silence with gratitude.

"Thank you." He mumbled, as he watched the still smoking enemy spy be taken by re-spawn.

Pyro made a small indistinguishable sound before it closed the gap between them. Sniper hadn’t flinched when a gloved hand drifted to his. Pyro gave his hand a squeeze which he returned. The masked form emitted another long drawn out noise and then let him go before it plodded out the door from whence it came, leaving Sniper alone and feeling confused in the smoke filled room. For the rest of the battle, he tried to focus on the field and splitting heads instead of the fact that no more spies tried to come for him in his nest and how strange it made him feel.

****

On weekends, both teams broke from fighting one another. Because of that, Friday evenings commonly lent themselves to heavy drinking and merrymaking. It was late, and Sniper was sitting on the couch while he watched his teammates engage in a heated game of cards. He had been a part of the game until he found himself too inebriated to continue. At the moment, he was quite content with drunkenly grinning ear to ear, a bottle of Beenleigh rum nestled between his legs to keep himself from spilling it. He had spent the majority of the evening drinking the rum neat, two notches above comfortable inebriation when Pyro sat next to him.

Initially there had been a flare of caution, the memory of Scout’s blood pulsing and soaking into his shirt as he looked to Pyro’s blue soot stained suit. His reservations were quickly buried in haze as his mind shifted. The blurred memory of Pyro burning the Spy arose within his memory and again, his mind relived thankfulness. Sniper welcomed his unexpected company with a grin and a tip of his bottle, and soon he was pointing to the game, commenting on it to Pyro who watched and listened to him with an uncommon intensity.

Sniper talked about everything and nothing until the game at the table dried up. He was far too drunk and too far gone to have noticed the wary glances given to him as he conversed passionately with the team's mute. There was a little less than half a bottle remaining when Sniper finally got up shakily from his seat. Most of the team had long since left the room to sleep off their own vices, so he figured it was about time he tried to as well. He hadn’t questioned it as Pyro rose along with him, a hard grip shooting to his arm, that helped Sniper steady himself. He hadn't cared when Pyro grabbed one of the sturdy wooden chairs at the poker table carrying it along with them, nor had there been an ounce of resistance at how firmly his wrist was grabbed. He had even smiled as he was lead through the base to god knows where.

He laughed and pulled at Pyro's hard grip as they passed one of the base’s bathrooms. Pyro emoted a threatening grumble, which did nothing to quell Sniper’s snickering.

“I need to unload the rum, mate.”

Pyro stopped then, and heavily set the chair outside the door before he sat, not breaking what Sniper only assumed was eye contact from the vacant black eyes of the mask. When Sniper was done he stumbled back out into the hall. Clumsily, he tried to dry wet hands on his pants, but didn’t get to finish before his wrist was grabbed and pulled along. 

They finally stopped to enter a room Sniper hadn't ever seen.

He watched Pyro as it sat the chair down in the center of the room. He allowed himself to be pulled a little too roughly down, forcing him to occupy it, happy to no longer be standing. He looked around and instantly understood why Pyro had bothered bringing the chair with them. There was little else in the room other than a small dingy bed and what looked like the remnants of a dresser that, at some point, had been caved in with something. When his eyes lingered on the red axe and sledge hammer leaning against the mangled furniture, he hadn’t stopped the chuckle at how telling it was. He eventually turned his head to Pyro, hunched as the thing reached under the bed for something or other, when it dawned on him where he might be.

"Is… this your room?" Sniper asked softly, the question making Pyro stop. It turned to nod its head before producing a coil of rope from under its bed.

It stood and threw the mass of heavy nylon on the bare, dirty mattress, which made the springs creak and moan before it silently walked towards the door. Sniper's drunken joviality dipped at the loud sound of finality as the bolt locked. His face fell as Pyro approached the chair once again. It stood for a silent moment before a hand went to touch Sniper's face, lingering on his jaw. The sound of latex scraping the stubble on his face sent a shiver through him. He didn’t resist as those same hands moved to pluck his aviators off of him.

"Wot are you doing?" Sniper asked, hating how weak and tinged with anxiety it sounded and how utterly stupid the question was.

The glasses were thrown to the bed with little care before gloved fingers returned to touch his cheekbones, gliding down to trace his sideburns. It didn’t feel overly intimate until they began running down his chin, both thumbs following the textured path of facial hair that flowed over his adam's apple, that bobbed nervously at the attention. They reached the vulnerable hardness of his throat, and the movement abruptly stopped. Pyro bore down and the unsuspecting pressure had Sniper gasping at an embarrassing volume. His skin began to burn as Pyro's breath changed. He couldn’t stop the disconcerting heat that rose and coated his chest and face. Sniper wasn’t so far gone from drink that he misunderstood it’s overly familiar touches. Drunkenly, and with too much enthusiasm, he had tried to reciprocate. He went to mimic Pyro's touches, and as soon as a timid hand touched the neck of the mask, it responded unkindly. His wrists were grabbed as a very negative sound of violation ran through Pyro's form. It bent down, body postured in threat as its grip tightened, the cartilage and bone of Sniper’s wrist complaining in its iron grip. It made Sniper cry out a low whine as he tried to pull and shrink away from the pain.

“M’ sorry.” Sniper barely managed.

There was another, quieter sound of threat, before Sniper's hands were finally released where they dropped to hang limply at his sides. Again, Pyro shifted above him, cringing at its touch as he expected further pain. The touches to his throat and neck were instead careful and meticulous as fingers lingered on his face and neck. When the material of the gloves brushed against errant strands and along his hairline, the rubber snagged and pulled which had sparks shooting southward. He had always liked it rough, and felt no shame at the arousal that flared inside of him. There was remorse when gloves left his face to rest on the collar of his shirt. They lingered for a moment, inspecting and touching the fabric almost curiously before both sides were clenched hard and suddenly pulled forcibly apart.

The cold that hit Sniper’s overheated chest paired with the overly loud sound of tearing cloth had his breath uneven as his cock began to engorge. He sat, looking at Pyro with wide, shocked eyes until his shirt, now utterly ruined, was released. He moaned openly as cold rubber explored the planes of his chest and was unable to stop the hard shudder that passed to his core.

Sniper's hands fisted and clutched at nothing as Pyro's became more and more bold. He knew he should have tried to stop it, but fuck, it felt nice. He gave up any intention to as both of its hands went to his nipples, pinching down. He uttered a loud cry that made the damn thing laugh through its own heavy panting. Lost in sensation, in spite of all the alcohol, he found himself painfully hard. When he went to shift his cock to alleviate the compounding pressure, another hideous sound from Pyro rolled from the mask and again, a hand grabbed and violently pulled him away from the source of his stress. The force and pressure felt doubled from last time, but as far gone and frustrated as he felt, the denial made Sniper very mad.

"It fuckin hurts," He bellowed low with threat. Pyro looked straight through him, unmoved and uncensored. Sniper could see himself in the lenses, red faced and obviously aroused. The reflection made him unconfident in the anger he tried to project. "Yer also hurting me," he growled as he pulled at his arm for emphasis, which did nothing to loosen Pyro's vice like grip. "Ain't fun when it hurts like this."

Pyro cocked its head. It uttered a small fluttering, questioning sound before a hand went to Sniper's crotch and squeezed with slightly too much strength. Sniper hiccuped out a startled sound as anger bottomed out to shock. It was so close to the cusp of pain when the hand started to move, and it was almost embarrassing how quickly it bloomed into pleasure that felt weird and sharp, deep in his core. He finally looked down and noticed his own shaking hand was on Pyro's, unsure if he wanted to pull it away or not. When he looked back to Pyro's stoic, untelling face, his reflection looked red and panicked which had him throbbing hard underneath its movements. Sniper hadn’t realized he’d been released until its gloved fingers were back at a nipple where they tugged and pulled again. The sensation made his eyes widen and caused his moans to take on an odd, shameful tone, the sound of it making the damn thing purr.

“Please, I need more.” Sniper begged, eyes frantic as they looked to the hand at his crotch.  
And as quickly as it had started, the motions abruptly stopped as its hands left his quivering body.

Sniper protested the change with an embarrassingly needy sounding whine. It stepped back and away, leaving Sniper sitting dumbly, the sound of his breathing deafening in his ears. His eyes searched anonymous glass and rubber before Pyro turned away and retrieved the forgotten length of rope from earlier. Sniper looked at him as trepidation ran thickly through him. He was too drunk and far too excited which made it so damn hard to think, his breath impossible to catch. When it walked forward, the threat of restraint coiled on its yellow tipped fingers, he shook his head in silent refusal. His answer had Pyro's body angled in question once more.

“Please don’t,” Sniper whispered.

There was a long laborious silence before a deep sigh bled out from Pyro.

Rope still in hand, it walked to the door and deftly unbolted it. It swung the door open hard, wood trembling on its hinges before it stretched its arm, pointing out. The sudden change in attitude made Sniper freeze as his drunken, lustful mind tried its best to focus and understand the situation. Pyro waited for a moment, before it emitted a long angry growl and lunged forward. Sniper knew its aim was to clearly force him up from the chair and out of the room, which made him finally find his voice.

"Wait! Jesus, just fucking wait!" Sniper shouted. The loud outburst stalled Pyro for the moment, but its stance was still very upset and impatient. He wet his lips before he started again. "Jus… I just don't understand." It was said a little slurred, a little frantic. "You won't go any further without that?" Sniper asked as he pointed towards the rope still in its hand. Pyro, still tensed and postured, nodded. "You... you won't hurt me if I let you do that, will you?" The words spilled out of him, which made a small part of Sniper's common sense stab at him painfully. The question meant he was willing to allow the thing in front of him to confine him, and, by proxy to do as it pleased with him.

Such a bad idea.

There was a long, pregnant pause at his question, and as it lingered, the more Sniper's mind woke up and screamed at him is to get up and out of the chair, that this was a terrible, terrible idea. He nearly jumped at the rumble of consideration that snapped through the oppressive silence. Pyro shook its head. Sniper stared for a moment before he took in a deep measured breath to calm himself.

“Alright. I’ll trust you.”

He pushed down the fear, the decision finalized. Sniper dropped what remained of his ruined shirt along with his watch into a pile on the floor, not meeting its eye as he did so. It emitted small sounds somewhere between disbelief and laughter before shutting the door and replacing the lock. Pyro walked behind the chair and Sniper presented a wrist that a gloved hand took, pulling his arm back. He freely put his other arm behind himself as well which garnered a sound of appreciation from Pyro. He felt the pressure of rope gnawing on skin as both wrists were tightly bound. He was surprised when more was further laced around and up his arms which brought the limbs closer, relieving some of the pressure and bite on his hands. There was an odd soup of emotions that churned inside Sniper at the overly practiced hand Pyro displayed in tying him to the chair. It was embarrassing that the idea of not being the first to be restrained in this manner was as arousing as it was. When Pyro finished, Sniper pulled at the bonds experimentally, and the chair creaked at his distress. His limbs were useless and he shook with the knowledge that he was no longer sure he could get up from the chair without bringing both it and, by proxy, himself to the floor. The vulnerability created a fine powder of sweat which, perplexingly, made the damnable ache inside himself worsen.

Pyro rose and Sniper grew excited at the heavy fall of boots and the halting sound of Pyro unbuckling its belt. It hadn’t bothered removing it from the loops, but the suit flared out all the same, no longer cinched around its waist. The simple action made its behavior shift as its breathing became increasingly shallow. His abs shook nervously at latex clad hands that finally found their way to his belt.

He twisted his arms a little in the restraints as he felt leather and steel give way, followed by the top button of his trousers. He moaned through his teeth as his zipper released the pressure, the feeling of relief flooding tender flesh. The way he was pulled free from his clothing had been impersonal and efficient.The way Pyro’s gaze lingered on his now bared erection had him worrying his arms in their confines. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this vulnerable in front of anyone. He gasped when sudden fingers were at his lips, taking advantage of his shock by jamming their way inside of him. Its fingers tasted of smoke, dirt and petrol and a hundred other flavors he had no name for. The curious thought of when they were last washed came quickly to mind, followed by how Pyro held his disgusting hand in the van, how Scout’s blood had lazily dripped down the handle of the axe as it left the kitchen that night and the hundreds of other nasty, horrible things those gloves must’ve touched in battle.

It should’ve had him utterly repulsed. He should have fought to get the fingers out of him, but no. He found himself disgustingly sucking, licking, and bringing more of the digits to rest on his urgent tongue as they pressed down and rubbed in his mouth. Each motion sent more ache, more longing, down his back and stomach. It made him feel hot and crazy. He had sucked on them hard, trying to draw them deeper in himself. He pathetically tried to follow the digits as they were removed from his mouth. It wasn’t until wet fingers were brought to his erection, spreading his spit on his flesh that he understood why Pyro had been enthusiastic in finger fucking his mouth. The fingers were brought back, tasting and smelling of himself. He licked and slobbered all over Pyro’s glove, trying to get it good and wet. Sniper went insane for its touch as Pyro heaved and growled at his worship of the glove in his mouth.

Sniper whined low when the soaked hand was finally gone and with it a hundred different flavors of chemical and filth. Before Pyro started, it sat down heavy and hard over trembling thighs. The chair groaned in protest at the change of weight. He let out an undignified high pitched moan as its wet hand wrapped around his now painful cock and his eyes crossed as the smell of Pyro overwhelmed him. It smelled just like its glove tasted, but much more concentrated. Industrial and caustic smells which made the person writhing on his lap seem so much more inhuman. Odors that shouldn’t have made him pathetically leak into its tight unmoving fist as his hips tried and failed to rock upwards. Pyro’s other hand came to rest on the back of his neck before it started bucking and grinding. The hand around him was too damn tight, but the material had him slipping in and out of it with unprecedented ease.

“Fuck.” Sniper whispered meekly, a sentiment he was sure was lost to all but himself between the sounds of Pyro’s frantic breathing and the shift and squeak of rubber as the filthy thing thrashed on top of him. Animalistic sounds came out as hot puffs of air from Pyro’s respirator which hit Sniper’s sweat covered chest. Both the sound and the chill drove need deeper and harder into Sniper’s guts. He wanted to finish and the alcohol made the endeavor difficult. He shut his eyes. Focusing. Trying. It was so very frustrating. He bent down, looking at himself being fucked by its slickened hand. Reddened, near purple flesh that pierced and leaked over wet, soiled black and still it wasn’t enough. His mind reached, churning out filth to reach the end.

“I wanna come,” he slurred out, more to himself than to the thing on top of him as he tried to heat himself to climax. “Gunna… gunna come all over you. Make you even more disgusting than you already are.” An ugly retort followed. It cackled at him as the hand at his neck gripped him harder and closer. It was embarrassing and mocking, but not nearly enough to stop the drunken stupidity that freely leaked out of his mouth. “Gun… gunna paint you fuckin white with it, and you ain’t even gunna care, are you? W… won’t even bother cleaning it off of ya, will you?”

The idea of the damn thing’s suit marked with his come for days as something so inconsequential that Pyro ignores it until it’s flaking off and forgotten had him pathetically at his edge. In the end it was gloved fingers scratching and pulling hard at the small hairs of his neck and a low rumbling animal growl from Pyro that did it for him. It was sudden, violent, and hadn’t gone the way he intended. Sniper cried out in confused offense when he felt his own load hit himself in the goddamn eye. He tried to pull back and away from it, half delirious in pleasured shock but the grip at his neck cemented him in place. The upset became buried in decadence as he gave in to euphoria. He hadn’t minded the twisted laughter from the thing on his lap as a final hard shot struck his chin, followed by weaker spasms that weren’t strong enough to make it further than Pyro’s fist. He gasped for breath, feeling the mess drip down his cheek. Once he was coherent again, he looked to Pyro with one eye open, staring at his own reflection in its mask. Thick viscous white clung beaded on his lashes and eyebrow, with so much oozing down his shut eye lid. His hand pulled involuntary to clear himself of it, only to be reminded that he couldn’t.

Pyro was still outside its heavy breathing. The hand from his neck unlaced itself and quickly went to touch the streak on his chin. Its thumb pushed down hard, rubbing along the line of mess as it was collected. It looked at its fingers for a moment, before pushing it deep inside Sniper’s slightly agape mouth and past his startled gasp. It rubbed the mess hard on his tongue and it was sour and bitter with the rum he had been drinking. When he couldn’t stop the reflexive cough from the harsh flavor, Pyro pushed the thumb deeper inside, growling while the thing did it. Sniper breathed in a hard, shaking breath before his reluctant lips wrapped around the digit, sucking gingerly. Another rumbling growl and when the hand was finally removed from his mouth, Pyro did something strange. It shifted its weight, legs opened wide in his lap. Sniper watched it hold both the cuff of its glove and the sleeve of its suit hard before it pulled inward. The glove deflated and the arm went limp, falling to its side. With its arm in the body of the suit, the hand that held the sleeve, its free hand threw the now empty glove to the mattress. Again, there was a focus on Sniper’s come-soaked face before Pyro’s thumb went to his brow, collecting the thickness there and putting it back in his mouth. When he started to suck, a repetitive movement started within the suit. It took Sniper a moment to realize what was happening.

Pyro was touching itself, getting off as it fed Sniper his own come.

The longer it continued, the more frantic and otherworldly the racket that spilled out from the thing on his lap was. A hand went to his eye, and Sniper flinched his head away when the thumb ran, far too hard in its excitement, against the closed lid. A sound of threat cut the air at the reaction, but still it allowed a moment for Sniper to collect himself to present his face again. When the thumb went back, it was still too hard as it pushed down, sliding over soft vulnerable flesh. The action was still easier to take as he was ready for it. Again, the finger dipped into his mouth, but this time, Sniper drew it in, sucking hard. It garnered a warped, reverbed gasp, and quickly the movements within blue latex doubled aggressively. There was one final, shaking drag of spit moistened rubber down his cheek, a half hearted attempt to get the majority of what remained into Sniper’s mouth. He answered the action by sucking on the digit with relish. He bobbed his head for Pyro and smirked when the hips on his lap rolled in shortened jerking motions. Fingers eventually fell from his mouth to return to the back of his neck as the noises became more drawn out.

“You like my mouth, huh?” Sniper asked, chuckling at the curt nod he received in response. “Course you do… been told I’m real good with my tongue too. I could show you.” Sniper slurred out lustfully. Quiet, angry sounds started spilling out of Pyro, the hand at his neck tightened threateningly. The warning was drunkenly not noticed, and stupidly he continued on. “Ain’t gotta use yer hand. I could suck you off or… maybe eat you out. Whatever you need, love. What ev-”

Sniper never finished the sentiment as three fingers crammed deep in his mouth to silence him. The thing on his lap dripped with threat and rage as Sniper tried not to gag and choke. All manner of sounds as an angry, furious cacophony of grotesque vocal gestures spewed out. Every word unintelligible. It didn’t sound like any language he’d ever heard, but he believed it to be swearing from the bitter, horrible noises flooding out of it. Sniper wondered if Pyro would still keep its word not to hurt him. When Sniper realized the violent movements below Pyro’s waist failed to stop through its tantrum, tired flesh twitched with interest.

He bucked in spite of himself, and suddenly Pyro’s body went rigid and angry sounds warped to high pitched and strangled cries. The fingers crammed in his mouth were removed rapidly to grip his shoulder tightly as anchorage before the spasming started. Sniper moaned low, feeling the wide legs around him twitching and convulsing. Sniper rested his forehead against Pyro’s, trying to match and mimic the pleasured sounds sympathetically with it that made its grip tighten as its body shook harder. He was happy and half hard again as Pyro rode out the final throes of its orgasm.

It took awhile for the noise in its filter to die down to heavy breathing. It looked to Sniper’s smiling face and sighed deeply. Pyro disengaged then, and pulled itself off Sniper. He watched as it staggered to the bed, grabbing for its abandoned glove before the limp sleeve at its side filled out. Back turned, the glove was put back on out of his sight. Silently it turned and stared down at the man tied to the chair. It let out a tired, small sigh before it walked behind him to loosen the bonds. Sniper groaned as his arms fell forward. Blood flow rapidly returned to his deprived hands which made them sting as feeling returned. The task finished, Pyro returned back to its bed where it sat and stared at Sniper rubbing feeling back into his lightly hemp burnt wrists and hands. He was far from sober, but no longer elated with fear and arousal, exhaustion started to close in. He looked to Pyro letting out a breathy laugh.

“Jesus, I’m tired,” he uttered to no one in particular, shoulders slumped forward, head feeling more leaden and heavy as he came down. He was cold. His arms prickled, as he rubbed at them to warm himself. He looked down to his shirt, realizing just how ruined it was before deciding he couldn’t be bothered to pick it up. There is a whine and shift of springs and Sniper lifted his head to gaze at an outstretched gloved palm. He stood, and there was no hesitation when he took it. He didn’t resist as he was dragged forward and down, too tired to mind the awkward shift of limbs and pointed joints as the both of them settled on Pyro’s bare, soiled mattress. After the metal springs of the bed stopped complaining at the added weight, Sniper closed his eyes and was rapidly taken by a deep syrupy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Daoinhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe/) proof read this chapter which was no small feat. Thank you so much. (*ˊᗜˋ*)/ᵗᑋᵃᐢᵏ ᵞᵒᵘ*  


Sniper awoke with a dry throat and a need to piss. He cracked an eye to glance at the ceiling before closing it again, mind too foggy to take in the room or get up just yet. His mouth was dry and his body reeked of sweat and alcohol, but he felt grateful that he wasn’t the kind of person that had hangovers. He groaned and shifted uncomfortably to his side and felt his back hit something that immediately stirred. A heavy arm came from behind to rest at his waist and, all at once, the memory of last night returned to him in a vividly detailed flood of images. He froze, listening to a rasped grumble before he was pulled roughly into Pyro’s warm body. 

Fuck. 

His eyes shot open and were greeted with the damn chair from last night. His heart raced as his body felt the echoes of its writhing body on his lap. 

Jesus, what had he done? 

He tensed, and the arm that held him came alive, fingers slowly smoothing out hairs on his naked skin. Pyro started to pet him on the stomach and chest, its gloved hand tracing along the thick line of dark hair that ran from his chest to his groin in slow languid motions. Pyro gurgled before it reached low, thumbs hooking the elastic hem of his underwear before roughly pulling it down. After being exposed, it clawed at the thick crop of pubic hair and Sniper shot a harsh gasp past his dry lips, unable to stop his cock stirring at the attention. 

" N...no. I need to get up." He pleaded.

It was the truth. The previous night of drink had his bladder feeling leaden, a whisper of ache with the pressure and Pyro didn’t care. It responded with a low rumbling growl and laced a gloved hand around his shaft where it started a hard, even rhythm.

“Pyro I need to get up an’ piss.” He uttered, feeling his stomach flutter in a duality of pain and pleasure. Its hand only moved faster. “I’ll come back, I promi-” He was cut off by being harshly rolled to his stomach, his body weight heavy and uncomfortable on his erect cock and full bladder. His arm was wrenched backward and upward and he shouted at the strain as he was pulled back to roll on to his side. Pyro’s free hand went back to the thick dark hair of his groin, scratching at it before pushing down, pain shooting through his bladder.

“FUCK!” He shouted, the aggression earning his arm being forced higher. He keened through his teeth, hating that both the pain and the threat of dislocation had his stupid erection twitching and pulsing, and the animal behind him laughed as it felt it. He cursed his body, but moaned in spite of himself as arousal licked at his insides. The hand left coarse hair to run over his cock in quick even strokes for a moment before it returned to push again.

“FUCK, PLEASE!” He shouted, tears pricking at his eyes. It hurt too badly. His muscles burned and trembled, holding back what quickly became unbearable. He broke into a sweat, cheeks burning as he held on. “Why?!”

It answered Sniper’s question with small, hard jabs of pressure that caused the dam to break. The first burst of liquid made it through, drooling down his cock where it sullied his underwear. It had Sniper seizing in embarrassed fear, gasping at the air like a beached fish. He tried to retighten himself, but it was impossible to stop. 

Pyro noticed it had won, its hand drifting to the base of his shaft where it massaged him slowly and purred into the back of his neck. It hardly registered through the humiliation and the slow encompassing warmth that soaked his clothing.

He had two choices. Either soil himself by having it ooze unwillingly over himself and the bed as he continued to struggle, and fail, to keep it down, or open up and piss hard enough over the edge of the mattress to make it to the floor. He tried to do the latter, the idea of soaking himself and the bed being utterly reprehensible, and it wasn’t an easy task. As hard as he was and having held it so long, it hurt to push hard. And it was difficult forcing against unyielding and unwilling tissues and muscles, shuddering as he pried past them. He had been so thankful when it finally started, giving a little hiccup of relief when liquid began striking the floor in front of him. Pyro shifted behind him, the motion making his compromised arm click and bend dangerously as a masked head came to rest heavily on his shoulder, its breath tickling his neck. It wanted to watch him humiliate himself, and it apparently liked what it was seeing. Sniper listened to hungry sounds whisper out of the respirator.

The sound of liquid ruining the wood became louder as more and more wet puddled and collected on the floor boards. It seeped silently though some of the older larger cracks of the filthy untreated wood where remnants would undoubtedly stay, with no easy way to clean it out. The knowledge that evidence would be left of this made the back of his throat close tightly, and a horrible heat bit at his neck as a whine whistled through his nose.

His suffering wasn’t enough. Pyro’s hand that was holding him began to move again. An overly tight fisted glove slowly ran up and down his cock, making his purge much more difficult. A weird pleasurable hurt took hold of him and he stuttered out small gasps and moans, lips moving, but unable to voice a protest. He shouldn’t still be hard at all, and it became more shameful as the smell of his mess finally caught up with him. The rum from last night made it dark and foul . He couldn’t take it. Something inside buckled and loud sob ripped through his throat. Again it laughed, and suddenly the movement died and instead, the hand around him gripped him hard. The stream cut off and oozed. Hot, wet trickled down his leg, soaking fabric and chilling skin which made hot, wet tears flood from the corners of his eyes and down his face. Openly and unable to stop, he cried. 

It made a sympathetic gurgle of question at his sobbing and let him go. Again, his body pushed, and Sniper lost his breath to the relieving ache. Pyro chirped discordant noises of comfort into his ear. It waited for him to finish before continuing, allowing him to void, and when he was finally done and empty, everything was off and sore from the effort. He was still half hard in spite of the discomfort and when the movements around him began one more, it was soothing. Pyro touched him slowly, not caring about the smell or the wet as it worked at him. The hand slowed further, massaging the head of his member in careful circular motions. Pyro shifted to rest its masked head at the center of his back as its fingers left hardened flesh, moving lower. 

Rubber fingertips brushed his testicles, giving them a careful squeeze before they dipped lower. Sniper froze when rubber parted him to lazily caress the rim of his ass and let out a confused, rattled squawk between sobs as Pyro’s middle finger attempted to breach dryly inside of him.

“ FUCK, NO!” He shouted as he began to struggle in earnest, his arm creaking dangerously in Pyro’s grip. Miraculously, it listened and stopped its prodding. “Jesus...You can’t do it without something,” he demanded, voice cracking and broken. A soft twitter of sound fed into Sniper’s back as a hand rose, trailing up Sniper’s long chest. The smell hit his nose instantaneously and immediately Sniper’s crying died as it twisted to revulsion. He stared at the hand in front of his face, glistening and stinking of piss. He was reminded of what they did last night, how he had sucked on its fingers with abandon and the understanding of what it was silently asking him to do made his skin crawl. When Pyro brought it to his lips, his head jerked to the side to get away from it. 

“No.” Sniper said firmly, sounding like a threat. “I’m not doing that.”

The defiance made Pyro grunt, and pull his arm upward. He hissed through the pain, shaking his head, feeling more angry than frightened. 

“Hurry up and break it, then. I’m not putting that shit in my mouth.” 

There was a curious gurgle before Sniper's arm was slowly pushed up. He held his breath, bracing for the pain of disconnect. It reached a trembling apex, where cartilage, muscle and bone complained loudly at the unnatural stretch. Time felt like it slowed as he was held there, nose dripping snot, but stubbornly refusing to beg for mercy. He wondered if Pyro could hear the grinding of his teeth as he waited for the snap. He felt it tighten its grip, one final time, and to his utter surprise, his arm was dropped and released.

Immediately Sniper rolled away, cradling himself while the figure behind him shifted. Through cracked eyes, he watched Pyro warily as it reached between the wall and the corner of the bed where it produced a filthy pump bottle of lotion.

He watched as it pumped out a large thick dollop, spreading it between its gloved fingers before it reached for him with its clean hand, clutching his shoulder to roll him on his back. He obeyed, still holding his arm while staring at vacant glass, and by proxy, into the reflection of his own wet, red eyes. It pulled down and removed the spoilt garments from his long legs, before forcing them open. He bit his lip as a gloved finger again attempted to breach him, gasping through his nose when the digit slid in fast and deep. 

He had touched himself like this before.

He had been curious and lonely when he had done it, with too much time on his hands and no one to warm his bed. It had been strange and foreign, not horrible and painful like other blokes joked about. He hadn't understood it though. It wasn't terrible, but wasn't terrific either. 

It was funny that it took a creature that felt hardly human looming over him while knuckle deep within his ass, that he finally "got" the appeal. 

He felt himself harden against his leg as it slowly moved inside, spreading slick and stretching him. He was fully erect by the time the gloved finger began to move. The friction and the forcefulness still had hurt him a little, but somehow, he didn’t think his desperation would have been nearly as dense had it not been painful. He let go of his aching arm, hand drifting down and hovering over his aching cock in silent question of allowance before he braved touching himself. Glass watched his hand while he moved slowly over turgid flesh, and a low watery growl hissed out. It had felt good when the second finger forced its way in along with the first. He arched as the intrusion stung, biting his lip at the whorish moan he couldn't hold back. 

“Y-your hurting me.” Sniper managed, eyes blown and bewildered. His comment made Pyro still and Sniper groaned at the loss of movement. “Fuck, that doesn’t mean stop.” 

It must have liked that invitation, as the movement doubled, hand moving hard and deep as Sniper trembled and took it with delight. He felt the thing as it moved forward, violently slotting its hips between his legs to begin a pantomime of fucking. Digits began to piston inside of him as latex slammed forward into trembling thighs. It was instinct that caused him to try to open his shaking legs wider to allow more inside of him. He started meeting its movements, trying to touch something unspeakable inside that made his breath stammer. 

"I'm gonna come." He whispered out, more to himself than the thing above him between frantic breath. "I'm gonna-"

Words failed as a third, final finger forced past the tight band of his ass. His eyes widened at the hint of tearing. He stopped breathing. He was so full, completely over stretched. Idly he knew he must be bleeding, and the idea of Pyro pulling away, slick and tinted pink with his blood was too much.

He came with a growl, hands clutching hard at the mattress when he wanted more than anything to grip at the latex beast fucking him but found himself not brave enough to do it. It was messy. Half of his load wetly painted Pyro up its torso, with what was left coming down loudly on his shaking abdomen, white beads clinging to dark hair as he gasped for breath. 

He shut his eyes as his heart hammered behind his heaving ribs. He heard shuffling above him, the flop of something weighty on fabric and Sniper turned his head to stare at an abandoned glove as he listened to Pyro’s arm slither deeper into its suit. Pyro’s free hand coaxed Sniper into raising his legs to its shoulders and when both were up and over, Sniper could hear and feel it as it touched itself.

He groaned when it began to repetitively pitch him forward, fucking into him roughly once more while it pleasured itself. Sniper watched Pyro from the back seat of his post orgasmic glow, smiling as gurgled moans became louder and louder. It leaned on his legs for support in its rutting as a free hand went to play and smear the mess of cum on his abdomen. 

"You like makin' a mess of me, eh?" Sniper asked, not expecting a fervent nod to his question. Sniper couldn't help but chuckle. He turned his head to the glove it had removed to get an arm in the suit, looking to wet, soiled digits that had been stirring up his insides moments ago. He shut his eyes and swallowed deeply as he made what he hoped wasn't a terrible decision. 

He was slow in his movements, everything purposeful and deliberate. All the noise died immediately within the suit along with the thrusts when fingers touched latex. He made the touches brief and quick, fingers deftly running up blue rubber before they broke contact. 

It was silent and stone still as it looked at Sniper's retreating fingers, making a low, weird sound of offense when he brought them to his lips. 

He made a show of it, making a mess intentionally. His lips sucked on his fingers tight and hard so that the cum he had collected from Pyro's suit couldn’t make it into his mouth, but instead rolls from his fingers until it's dripping down the corner of his lips in a thick, syrupy line, his tongue doing a purposefully poor job to stop it. 

Immediately a gloved hand was on his face, and the rutting started again, albeit shakily. Sniper listened to rubber on his thick morning stubble as it caught what he had "missed" to cram in his dry lipped mouth. Sniper winced. His cum was as bitter as the rubber itself, something not unexpected from an evening of drinking. It was easily suffered though as he looked up to Pyro, loving the whole of its small body shaking as fingers dragged in and out of his slack mouth. It tasted gross and vile as it smeared it roughly on his tongue, but he owned up to it, deciding the bitterness was worth the deep, quivering moan he heard and felt through Pyro. He sucked loudly until the only flavor that was left was chemical.

Fingers slipped out of his mouth, trailing sloppily back to the mess on his abdomen, no doubt to collect more to feed to him. He grimaced at the idea of that and hastily decided to push his luck. He grabbed Pyro by the hand, and before it could resist, laced his fingers with soiled ones, not caring about the stickiness. 

"You gonna play around all mornin' or are you gonna fuck me, love?"

Pyro hissed. The hand on his own came to life and slammed roughly next to his head. Pyro leaned forward, its hips grinding down heavily into him as it began to utter unintelligible curses. With the way it carried on and bellowed above him, he knew it was close.

"Oh yes," He murmured, hips moving to meet Pyro's at their apex. "Do you like that? Fuck'n me?"

A shaking wet sound was all he got in response, while the hand in the suit doubled its efforts.

"Fuck'n me on my back, legs in the air like a whore?" He continued, voice shaking as he was jostled forward. "You wanna know a secret? I'd let you. You know that? I'd let you do it for real. Let you treat me like your own fuck'n playground," The hand wrapped in his shook as he continued. "Let you have whatever hole you need." 

Pyro froze its thrusting, wet rattles of struggling breath coming through the respirator as the shuffling of its frantic hand became the only two points of sound in the room. 

"Come on then," Sniper growled, staring angrily into black glass, knowing it was looking at him. "Do it."

It sounded shocked and shrill, and Sniper laughed as it twitched above him, gasping for breath as it crushed his hand, sounding disgusting and elated as it finished. 

When the noise and writhing finally subsided, Pyro slumped forward, its heavy weight being held up by Sniper’s gangly legs alone. 

He waited for a moment, before he slowly started to roll to his side, Pyro not protesting as it lost balance and landed heavily on the mattress, giving a small, quiet huff of indignation while the springs noisily creaked from the blow.

It made no effort to move even when Sniper carefully unknitted his legs from its still and leaden body, only getting non-committal sounds of displeasure at being jostled. Untangled, he sat in silence as the heap of rubber curled up and started to snore. Sniper, dumbfounded at being left to his own devices so carelessly, laughed under his breath at the situation. He sat up, wincing at the slight burn he felt on his ass and his lower back, trying to get his wits on what to do. 

He needed to clean himself and wanted a drink of water badly. His eyes looked around the barren room, eyeing a closed, white door. While he slept in his camper, he was still provided a room within the base he used mostly for storage and bathing, since it was a pain to wash in the cramped shower in his van. He reckoned that Pyro’s room must be built similarly to his own, and expected there was a bathroom behind the door in front of him. Egged on by thirst, he knelt to stand. As quietly as he could, he lifted himself up and away from both the sullied mattress and Pyro’s sleeping form, side stepping the mess he had made of the floor and towards the closed door he prayed wasn’t a closet.

He turned the knob, and when the door was cracked, a reflexive hand shot up to cover his mouth to stifle the noise of a coughing gag he could not stop. Inside was a sweet-smelling, fetid disaster. Piles and heaps of filth covered dishes were stacked from the ground and rose above and around a small, disgusting sink, which itself was full of stinking, fouled liquid that had apparently been in the basin so long that it had evaporated down, leaving a ugly multitude of brown, chromatographic rings on its once white surface.

He thought about the erratic spoon shortages in the canteen, and it occurred to him why, during all the places he toured with BLU, why they had to constantly restock silverware and plates every shipment. He shook his head and then froze, eyes wide and unbelieving that the sink had not been the worst feature of the room.

The toilet was far worse. It was reduced to a black pit of tar, whatever it’s contents were, had reached a level of decomposition that, whatever its odor was, thankfully was overpowered by that of the rotting food in the room. Inside the stained bowl, the black was surrounded by hundreds of small dark grains above water level, and at it's shore, a thin translucent ring of white. He held his breath, and bent down curiously, violently pulling back when he realised the pale ring was alive; a sickly band of maggots feeding from the liquid below. Automatically, he closed the lid down hard, stirring a horrid cloud of small gnats that had him gagging involuntarily in revulsion. His hand went to the toilet to flush before pausing, a lick of fear at whether or not it worked. The thought made him stand down. The floor was already disgusting, but he couldn’t bear the thought of black, maggoty water vomiting up from the toilet and spilling underfoot.

Eyes shifted away to the bath and his shoulders relaxed.

The tub, while coated, thick in scum and grime from use, looked reasonable by comparison. He eyed gloves and boots lined and folded haphazardly at its rim, no doubt set there to allow them to drip dry. He turned the tap, mouth watering as it ran. He washed his hands quickly before cupping them and bringing liquid to his parched lips. He did this several times until his stomach would take no more.

Saited, he sat carefully on the rim of the tub, back bristling at the thought of what was inside the toilet in front of him. His surroundings were distressing and telling. He looked at the yellow finger tipped gloves that hung from the edge of the tub and shuddered at the memory of those fingers being in his mouth, not once but twice. He had sucked on them, still remembered their taste. His brain tried to blot out the fact that Pyro clearly interacted with this room daily, the thought making him saddened and slightly sick. 

A subset of pity, anger and nausea filled him. His head turned to a half full bottle of dish soap that leaned over on a nearly full bottle of bleach. Both items were tangled in the head of a dry, matted mop, it's stiff tendrils leaking into a battered bucket on its side. He chewed on his lip for a moment as his emotions churned. There was no fighting today. His eyes stung, he felt like shit and smelt like piss. Both his room and his van were far away which meant he would have to take a rather lengthy walk of shame through the base like this, which he wasn’t willing to do. He needed to get clean...and he could not do that in this room. His eyes lingered again on the limp hanging gloves and, with a heavy sigh, he picked them up and put them on. He would take care of this.

His decision was far more complicated, Sniper realised, which helped tempered his resolve. It wouldn’t be easy going, but now that he had seen this, he could not help the pity that set hard and deep inside of his chest. Sniper shook his head, realising he was involved, like it or not. Being allowed inside, being permitted to see the extent of its problems, insured it. He was not the kind of person who could ignore suffering like this. Maybe that made him weak, but it was who he was.He shook his head, fingers stretching out the gloves experimentally. 

“Forever the kind-hearted masochist,” he muttered, before bending forward to stand. 

He picked up the bleach, popping the cap. Screwing his eyes shut, he half lifted the lid of the toilet and began to pour, revulsed at the feeling of insects colliding and tangling in arm hair that rose and prickled in revulsion. Quickly the bowl was shut again as its occupants perished, and he turned to put several hits in the sink as well before setting the bottle down. He was thankful the bathroom was similar to his own as he turned to the small cloudy window which he opened wide. It would serve as both an exit point for panicking insects to vacate, as well as to help against the offensive odor of chlorine eating though organics.

Sniper stuck his head out, breathing fresh clean air deeply, focusing on ordering his tasks. If he did it methodically, it hopefully wouldn’t take long. He would fill the tub and the bucket with hot water, dunk all the dishes in there and let them soak, rehydrate the mop while he tackled getting the sink usable. The floor would be next, so when he knelt to clean the dishes he would not do so on months worth of nameless filth. He noted the plunger in the clutter, maybe he could even brave getting the toilet to flush, he reasoned. 

***  
He was working on the final load of dishes, kneeling on the now clean, but damp floor, naked, save the gloves on his hands. He was draining the tub for the third time, praying it wouldn't clog again as It hadn't been fun plunging the tub still full of clattering flatware and ceramic, grabbing fistfuls of ancient soggy food in various stages of decay to flush down the now functional toilet. 

He hadn't noticed the quiet creak of the door behind him opening over the loud sound of water draining and the shifting of dishes. He wouldn't have noticed anything had he not turned to take more out to add to a stack of cleaner but not sterile dishes. The agape door and an unmoving silhouette caught the corner of Sniper's eye. He knew who it was.

"Hey mate," Sniper said evenly, masking how vulnerable he felt with the exit blocked. It looked to the sink that Sniper had emptied and bleached back to white, offering no comment or clue as to how it felt about it.

"Bout done here. Gonna rinse these and hop in myself." Pyro's head tilted to the side and downward, leaving Sniper to follow its gaze to his gloved hands. "Oh," Sniper uttered, wondering how it felt about him using its things. "I hope you don't mind. Made cleanin' up a great deal easier."

It said nothing. 

They stared at one another for an excruciating moment before Sniper's body broke the silence with a loud gurgling rumble. It made Pyro flinch and Sniper chuckled at it's reaction. 

"Sorry. Been at this for a bit and I guess my appetite is finally coming' back. If you want, I could finish this and we could both-" It turned and left him on his knees without comment. Sniper listened to the door of its bedroom open and slam shut and he was left alone. "Rioght." He mumbled. He had apparently expected too much, sighing as he went back to task with only himself as company. 

*** 

It was another half hour until his task was done. He stood, leaning backward, moaning low as his back cracked. He eyed the servicably clean dishes piled high, sighing at the effort it would take to bring them back to mess and into the industrial washer to be properly sterilized. He cracked his neck, deciding that didn't much matter while his grimey body still stank.

He took the mop, calling out warning into the room in case it wasn’t empty, and after finding it was, he ran it over the fouled, darkened wood to clean up his mess. He looked at the floor when he was done and frowned at the swollen planks. The bleach would help with odor, but knew that, even after it dried, a stain would remain, the room forever marked by him. It made him uncomfortable, but he shook his head of the thoughts to focus on more immediate problems.

There wasn't anything in the way of towels in this bathroom and he doubted the broken in dresser was likely to house anything useful either. There were no sheets or any cloth of any kind he had seen, outside his own clothing. He looked down to his tattered shirt and sighed. Maybe he could use that to dry off after he bathed, not liking the idea of walking the base damp and wearing soiled clothing, but unable to see any other option. He desired a shower and told himself he'd deal with it the best he could. 

***  
It took him a long while to get clean. Hot water had been decadent, but rapidly hunger and fatigue began to overtake him the longer he stayed under. He left the bathroom, still dripping wet, footfalls careful and measured so he didn’t slip on the clean tiles, cracking the door to see if he was still alone.

He was greeted with the chair set right in front of the door, laden with a small pile of items. A clean towel had been draped along its back, and in the seat, a poorly crafted sandwich on a plate with an apple next to it that rested atop of a seemingly random shirt and a pair of trousers that had been haphazardly folded. Sniper looked upon the offering with a grin, feeling relief that he would not have to put his soiled clothing back on. 

***

Pyro didn’t return to the room while he dried and dressed himself, nor when he had sat in the chair and scarfed down the food that had been left for him. He finished in silence, leaving the plate stacked with the others to be taken back to mess. He looked at the stain that he had made on the floor one last time before quietly vacating the room for his van, feeling distracted and far away. The further he distanced himself from Pyro’s room, the heavier the weight of what he had done became. His head ached, his body and mind fatigued and neither helped distract from the fact he had not only let himself be fucked the team’s psychopath, but played maid to the pitiful thing. 

A hand ran through his hair in frustration. What was he doing and what would happen now? What had it meant for them after what they had done? Should he be worried? Would it eventually regret last night and this morning and take it out on him? Questions flew in his mind like a swarm of buzzing insects, and didn’t quiet down until he was outside the door of his van. He paused, eyes wide as he mouthed a silent curse. 

The door had been locked when he left it, and regrettably it would never do so again. The handle had been knocked off, lying bent and useless in the desert sand. What remained was a caved-in, jagged hole from what must have been an axe tearing through it so it could be winched open. The clothing he wore suddenly felt itchy and weighty as he realized that Pyro must've broken into his van to get these things for him. 

He opened what was left of the door and stepped in carefully, eyes straining in darkness, angry at how poorly the door shut behind him. He pinched the bridge of his nose before removing his shades to see through the dim room better. Light fell between gaps and cracks, looking smoked and tinted orange though the rough spun curtains of his kitchenette. The van was still and silent. He was alone, but the place was not as he left it. Even in the dark, he could see a trail of clean clothing leading from his bedroom.

He followed it, grimacing when he saw it’s source was his small dresser. Two drawers had been removed, discarded on the floor along with half of his belongings. He picked it up with relief as it had not been damaged. He imagined Pyro in his room, black lens more than half blind in the darkness, fishing through his clothing until it found what it had been looking for. 

Sniper replaced the drawers, and stood irritated, shaking his head at the mess disdainfully. He was tired. Sore. There wasn’t a hope in the world he could be bothered to fuck with the mess on his floor. He grabbed the clothing that had been thrown on the bed to add to the pile on the ground to deal with later, flopping onto his stiff but familiar mattress once it was clear. Immediately, his eyes drooped. So damn tired. He kicked his shoes from his feet. He lay down, hands working the buttons of his shirt, not getting very far before his head began to dip. He could hear himself begin to snore before sleep took him.

***  
He was awakened by the sound of his battered door opening. It made him bolt upright and instinctively reach for the bowie knife he kept hidden between the mattress and the bed before standing, seeing a figure outlined in moonlight from the open door. Deftly a hand reached for the light string as whoever it was shuffled blindly and clumsy through his kitchenette. The light popped on, flooding the small space, making the trespasser freeze. 

It was Pyro. Sniper lowered his knife, a shaking hand covering his face.

“Fuck me dead,” he swore, gesturing to the thing angrily with the knife in his hand. “I was bout ready to gut you, idiot. What the hell are you doin’ in here?” 

Pyro said nothing.

“At least close the damn door. You’re letting bugs in ‘ere.” Stiffly, Pyro complied, pulling the remains of the door shut.

Sniper sighed, throwing his knife on the dresser, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I ain’t exactly happy with you rioght now,” He started, sounding more tired than authoritative. “You broke my bloody door and fucked my house right proper rooting through my things.”

Sniper shook his head and sat down on the edge of his bed, a hand covering his irritated face. He listened to the plasticy sound of Pyro’s movements approach, and looked through his fingers as the thing sat heavily next to him without comment, their combined weight pitting the bed and making their legs touch. 

Nothing was said when Pyro’s gloved hand met his knee, and silently glided over Sniper’s leg and into the hand that was resting in his lap. It held onto Sniper’s unresponsive one, stopping once fingers were laced together. He shot an irritated glance to Pyro, looking at his unhappy, tired reflection in its unmoved eyes. 

“What is this? You tryin to be sweet to ‘pologize to me?” It let out a small gurgle of sound before it leaned over, its head resting on Sniper’s shoulder. He should feel more angry, he thought, feeling clean clothes under his bare feet, but found the emotion absent as Pyro petted at his hand. 

“You can’t be jus’ waltzin’ in here, neither,” Another small rumble of sound as it squeezed his hand. “I‘m serious. I don’t want you here waking me up like this, no more.”

It pulled away, and looked at Sniper. In one solid motion, far too fast for Sniper’s tired mind to react to, he was pushed and forced down, head narrowly missing the wall and head-board as it smacked the pillow with a loud thump as he was forced to recline. 

"What are you doin?!" He tried to sit up instinctively, but violently he was pushed down again, a growl of threat making his body seize and still as a jolt of anger ran hotly through him. Pyro coiled above him, aggression pouring off as it made a cavalcade of displeased noises.

"No. You don’t fuckin' get to be pissy at me. I ain't done nothing to merit this feral cat bullshit. Nioce and sweet in one breath and then wot ever the fuck this is, the next. You're gonna act like a lunatic, then get off and piss off."

It slammed its fists against the wall and roared, shaking the whole van from the blow. Sniper was unmoved, seeing its behavior not as a threat but as a loud, childish fit to get him to stop talking. It stoked his rage, making Sniper bare his teeth in defiance right back.

"Wot then?! You gonna fucking fight me, after holding my bloody hand? Make up your goddamn mind!"

It stilled, hands grinding rubber as it clenched it’s fists tightly. It uttered a long string of irritation, and looked away in an angry huff. They sat together, the both of them calming down as Pyro sat heavily on Sniper's hips. He thought to its outburst, what he had told it and the truth hit him. 

"You don't like to be told what to do, do you?" It gave a singular nod, which Sniper digested for a moment before speaking again. "I bet you ain't used to it, with how damn scared you make the others, eh?"

Sniper brought a hand to massage his temples and then cover his eyes. 

"We all got rules, love. Conditions. Like that rope of yours, or like how you didn't want me touch'n on you," He lifted his hand to gaze at the glass that watched him, waiting for him to finish. "I did as you said because you wanted me to. I try an' keep followin' those rules because I respect you," Sniper looked away before adding, "If you want to keep doing whatever it is we're doing, then you gotta give me a little bit of respect too."

It rumbled annoyance briefly, but visibly relaxed above him. Slowly, a hand rose up, and Sniper eyed it apprehensively as it went to the center of his chest to pet at him softly. He scoffed, but couldn’t hold back the smile.

“I’ll take this as you understandin’ then.”

It replied with a muted growl, digging into his skin a little which made him shiver from the sensation, before returning back to its careful explorations, fingers almost curious as they traced and touched down him. It seemed to like where thick, dark hair met bare skin, flecked with freckles and meaningless dings and scars from new and old wounds. He liked it,. Eventually, the simple comfort made Sniper’s head heavy, trying hard not to doze off while he had company that was content to sit on him.

“Oi,” He started, feeling a soft grip dig at his ribs as fingers stopped to listen. “I’m tired and if you keep on with this, your gonna be ticklin’ an unconscious man before too long. You can stay if you like. I think this bed will fit the both of us.” Sniper yawned for effect as black lenses watched Sniper tap once on a blue leg for it to allow him to scoot from the center of the bed. It raised and when free, he rolled to his side, face looking to the wall, the expanse of his bare back exposed, and more than enough room for Pyro to lay if it chose to.

Something in the back of his mind wondered if what he was doing was a mistake. Not only was he unguarded and vulnerable, crushed up against a wall with his back turned, but he was giving Pyro an open invitation to stay in his home, a place that felt most private to him. He thought to the door and sighed, knowing that he couldn’t readily keep much of anyone out at the moment, but still it felt...oddly intimate for him. He jumped out of the thought when a cool hand touched the pit between his shoulders and slowly caressed down his spine, making him shudder pleasurably. 

He had always enjoyed having his back touched, and Pyro was apparently more than happy to oblige. Immediately the threat lessened, and worry drifted out of him as sleep started to seep in again. He turned his head towards Pyro, not seeing him, but enough to get it’s attention.

“Hit the light, love.”

There was a soft click and the room went dark. In the black, Pyro settled behind him, pulling him into the chill of its suit. It held him, spooned against him while he laid, content to be limp and compliant, as again, a hand went to roam over the curve of his hip bone where it softly touched and loved on his skin. He fell asleep to the feeling of rubber heating from his skin, and the sound of soft breathing behind him.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this mostly complete for a hot minute, but was never satisfied with the ending until about a week ago. One of the few things I've made "from scratch" without an outline or direction since the beginning of the COVID outbreak, which is probably why it came out as dark as it did. I have no idea when this will see an update, as it's something I'm finding I do when I'm not really in the mood for plotting out my other stories.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a simple desire to have a guy get fucked in a chair and turned into, by far, the single most infuriating piece of fiction I've ever written. It is a the first time I've written something past tense and the growing pains were excruciating, but ultimately worth it. Thanks again to my beta readers for dealing with my blatant illiteracy on this piece. If there is anyone that is willing to beta this story, or other projects I'm currently working on please hit me up at distasty@gmail.com . Any and all help is greatly welcomed and would speed up the rate of which I post.


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